


Trouble In Paradise

by imogenbynight



Series: The Blushing Violet [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Barebacking, Blatant (and probably blasphemous) misuse of angelic powers, Blow Jobs, Come Marking, Comeplay, Felching, Grace Play, M/M, Marathon Sex, No Refractory Period, PWP, Prostate Milking, Rimming, also known as the "cruisin' for a bj" ficlet, author is card-carrying member of team Everyone Switches Forever, because you will hate this fic so much, canon compliant up to 11.04, how did this happen, i'm so sorry all my jizz-repulsed friends, online hookup, the porniest thing i've ever written, while i'm sitting here like a filth machine who absolutely loves it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-23
Updated: 2015-12-23
Packaged: 2018-05-05 05:23:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5362952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imogenbynight/pseuds/imogenbynight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With Cas living permanently in the bunker, Dean's finding himself more than a little pent up in the pants department, and decides to put the hookup app on his phone to good use after an easy hunt. Little does he know, Cas has decided to do the same thing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I tried to write porn without plot, but I couldn’t manage to jump directly to the porn without setting up the how and why of it, so… there’s _slight_ plot. Not a plotty plot, but a teeny tiny establishing plot nonetheless. Also, feelings. Because there's always feelings with these two.
> 
> If you don't give a damn about establishing plot or the fact that it will put you on Santa's naughty list, feel free to skip ahead to chapter two.
> 
> Lastly, just a heads up: this fic uses phone screencaps for the texting that takes place. This includes a few pictures sent between Dean and the guy named "Steve" who is definitely not Cas ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) One of the images is suggestive, but none include nudity.
> 
> Enjoy the filth <3

Despite the fact that his libido seems to have been running at an all time high since he lost the Mark of Cain, Dean hasn't touched himself in over a month.

At first it was a matter of time and energy; he’d been far too preoccupied with handling the fallout around the release of the Darkness and keeping an eye on Cas’ healing to let himself take a moment for his own pleasure.

But it didn’t take long for the Darkness to settle into some kind of supernatural holding pattern, and Cas has been mostly fine and safe in the bunker for weeks, and Dean still hasn’t jerked off. He hasn’t hooked up with anyone, either. Has hardly slept. Hasn’t had a single moment of release.

It’s entirely Cas’ fault.

Cas has no idea, obviously. He’s not actually doing anything beyond existing in Dean’s space, but at all times Dean is hyper-aware of his presence. It’s this unavoidable--if absurd--feeling that if he even entertains the _idea_ of rubbing one out, Cas is somehow going to know.

Worse; he’s going to know what Dean’s thinking about while he does it. Who he’s thinking about.

It’s been a long damn time since Dean stopped denying to himself that his feelings for Cas aren’t strictly platonic, and an even longer time since he stopped trying to avoid thinking about him while he’s getting himself off, but while the situation has never been ideal it’s always been manageable. Until now. He never had to be around the guy for more than a few hours at a time, for one thing. He could always work through his frustration and have the fantasy completely out of his mind before he had to see Cas again.

These days? Not so much.

These days, Cas is never more than a room or two away, and Dean can’t think about feeling him up and then pass him in the hallway or sit next to him at the library table like he’s completely innocent.

He just _can’t_.

So this morning--a whopping forty-two days since his last orgasm--Dean is looking for a hunt.

A small, easy hunt. Something with a lot of downtime. Something in a town small enough that booking a second motel room won’t break the bank, but populated enough that he’ll have a better chance at finding a guy to hook up with during that downtime--because right now, it’s definitely a guy he’s aching for--without having to navigate the hell that is small town homophobia.

It’s taken the better part of two days, but finally he finds what looks to be a run of the mill salt-and-burn in Paradise, Nevada.

According to the map, Paradise is on the outskirts of Vegas, just south of a town called Winchester. Dean’s not usually one for signs, but hell if that isn’t a good one. It’s like the universe is telling him to take a gamble on this.

Roll the dice in Paradise.

 _Message received_ , he thinks, and drums his knuckles on the table to catch Sam and Cas’ attention.

“What’s up?” Sam asks him, pausing with a spoonful of oatmeal halfway to his mouth, and Dean spins the laptop around, pushing it across the table so he can see.

“Trouble in Paradise,” he says with a grin, waiting for one of them to give him something resembling a laugh. Sam purses his lips and frowns. Cas just squints.

“What are you talking about?”

“Haunted strip club in Paradise, Nevada.”

“A haunted strip club?” Sam’s frown twists into an unimpressed grimace. “Really?”

“Gotta go where the ghosts are, Sammy,” he says, and winks for good measure. He doesn’t look at Cas. Can’t bring himself to. “The first time she appeared was on stage last week, halfway through one of the routines. The audience thought it was a hologram.”

“Like Leia Organa’s message,” Cas says, sitting up a little straighter to deliver a quote. “ _Help me, Obi Wan Kenobi. You’re my only hope._ ”

Dean feels one side of his mouth lift in an impressed smile, and quickly scrubs it away with a hand, gruffly clearing his throat. Whether Cas making Star Wars references is adorable or not, he can't let himself pay attention to it.

“Yeah, only this was a chick in a cowgirl outfit,” he says. “She scared one of the dancers enough that she fell off the stage.”

“So she worked there before she died?” Sam asks, and Dean nods.

“Looks like. No record of any violent deaths at the club as far as I can see, but there could be something else tying her to the building. I’m guessing it’s got something to do with the girl who fell off stage.”

“Why?”

“According to the other witnesses, she’s been there every time the ghost turned up,” Dean says with a shrug. “And she’s the only one who refused to talk to the reporter who wrote the article.”

“Should we--” Cas starts, and Dean shakes his head.

“It’s barely even a two man job,” Dean tells him, and tries to ignore the way Cas’ face falls. “No point in you tagging along.”

“Oh,” he says, and looks down at the table. Dean swallows his guilt and stands, patting Cas on the shoulder as he passes.

“We’ll be back in like two days, tops. You’re not missing out on anything. Most of it will be driving.”

“I enjoy driving,” Cas says, and sighs, pulling out his cell. “Perhaps I’ll visit Claire.”

Biting back the impulse to ask if Cas is planning to come home after he’s seen her, Dean shoots him a grin.

“Good idea,” he says, and heads for the door.

Over the next twenty minutes, Cas waits for Claire to write back, and wanders around the bunker finding ways to help them pack. Dean avoids looking at him in case it invites a conversation about how maybe he _should_ come too, just in case it ends up being more complicated. When they finally leave the bunker a little before ten, Cas still hasn’t heard back from Claire, and only stands at the door long enough for them to get into the car. He’s gone inside by the time Dean has straightened the rear-view mirror. Dean tries not to let that bother him.

The drive to Nevada is long, and halfway there Dean is bone-tired and starting to suspect that he’s the world’s most ridiculous human being. After all, he’s spending an entire day in the car to hunt a non-violent ghost in a strip club just so he can get laid without worrying that the guy he’s in love with will find out about it somehow. As if Cas would even care. As if it’s actually Cas that’s the problem. As if the miles between Lebanon and Paradise will do a damn thing to stop him from feeling like a worthless piece of shit.

There’s a few text messages from him when Dean pulls into the parking lot of the Paradise Palm Motor Court, and he reads it while Sam goes to the 24 hour check in window to pay for a room. He huffs out a laugh as he types his reply.

 

 

He regrets his phrasing as soon as he sends it, but it’s too late to take the message back. Luckily his exhaustion didn’t loosen his tongue--or thumbs, technically--too much. The underlying message of _I miss you_ might be obvious to him, but Cas isn't exactly savvy when it comes to picking up on subtle cues.

Heading around to the trunk, he pulls out his duffel just in time for Sam to emerge from the small office with a room key his his hand.

“All the double rooms are upstairs,” Sam tells him, grabbing his own bag and hoisting it over his shoulder. “We’re in 25.”

Cas tries to call him as they're heading upstairs, and Dean looks at his cell and sighs, rubbing at his eyes.

“You gonna answer that?” Sam asks.

“I'll call him back in the morning,” Dean says, following him into the room. “I need to sleep.”

Within an hour, Dean is crashed out face-first on his motel bed. The pillow smells of cheap detergent. He sleeps heavily, rises late, and hurries Sam out the door around noon, forgetting his cell on the side table.

As soon as they’ve had their fill of all-day-breakfast at the diner near the club, they head over to The Satin Saloon and ask around until a bartender named Rose spills to Sam that the ghost they’d all seen was an ex-employee, and a close friend of the dancer who’d fallen off stage when she appeared.

Getting the dancer’s stage name is easy. Finding out her real one, and then her address, is a hell of a lot harder.

In the end, Sam turns on the boyish charm that endears him to grieving grandmothers all over the country, and Rose caves in, writing down the dancer’s name and address on the back of a cocktail napkin.

The dancer is a woman named Nadine, and she’s naturally suspicious when they turn up at her door. In the end, it’s only when the apparition flickers into being on her porch that she lets them in.

“Her name’s Dusty,” Nadine tells them through shaky tears, and accepts one of her own Kleenex when Sam offers her the box. “Or, it was, I guess.”

“You were close?” Sam asks.

“She was my best friend,” Nadine nods, blowing her nose wetly. “I still can’t believe she...”

She trails off, and Dean waits what he hopes is an appropriate amount of time before he prompts her.

“What happened to her?”

“She was crossing the street outside the club and some drunk guy ran a red light,” Nadine lets out a shuddering breath and looks between them. “I was meant to pick her up, but I’d had the flu, and I fell asleep. It’s my fault she... She… God, that’s why she’s following me, isn’t it? She’s angry. She _blames_ me.”

“I don’t think so,” Dean says with a shake of his head. “She hasn’t tried to hurt you, right? And when she appeared before, she was reaching out for you, but she didn’t look pissed.”

“I’m guessing you’ve been beating yourself up about this since it happened,” Sam says, and ducks his head to smile at her. She nods minutely. “Nadine, she’s trying to comfort you.”

“She’s… but it’s my fault.”

“It’s the drunk’s fault,” Sam assures her.

“Nadine,” Dean says after she’s taken a few moments to process that, and she looks up at him with blotchy cheeks. “Do you have anything of hers? Something that was important to her, or a lock of hair, or anything like that?”

At once, Nadine’s hand rises to touch the locket around her neck. After that, the hunt is basically over.


	2. Chapter 2

After salting and burning the locket, and reassuring Nadine for the twentieth time that her friend has truly moved on, Dean climbs into the Impala to find Sam already in the passenger seat, reading messages on his cell. He looks up when Dean closes the door.

“Hey, did you speak to Cas?”

“Not since last night,” Dean says, glancing over at him as he turns the ignition. “Left my phone in the motel this morning. Why, what’s up?”

“Nothing, I don’t think. Sounds like he was just checking in, but he tried to call you a couple of times and couldn’t get through. He asked where we’re staying,” as he speaks, Sam taps out a reply before slipping his phone back into his pocket. “I guess he was gonna try the motel phone.”

Dean hums in response and pulls out onto the main road, trying to put thoughts of Cas completely out of his mind. Knowing that the guy has been trying to contact him makes it more difficult than usual. He clears his throat and looks over at his brother.

“So, plans tonight Sammy?” he asks to change the subject, and Sam yawns through a shrug.

“That War Horse movie is on later,” he says, winding down the window. “Been meaning to watch it, unless you wanted to watch something else.”

“TV’s all yours,” Dean tells him.

“Why? What are you doing?”

From there, all Dean has to do is make a few off-color comments about hooking up with a stripper named Honey (completely made up, too--there was a Cinnamon and a Cherry at the club, but that’s where the food-related stage names ended) and Sam is practically demanding that Dean get his own room by the time they arrive back at the motel around eight.

“I’m not having you kick me out of the room at midnight just because you can’t keep it in your pants when we’re on a case,” he tells Dean as he opens the door.

Dean sighs dramatically, as though this wasn’t his idea in the first place.

“Fine, I’ll get my own room,” he says.

“Make it far away,” Sam retorts. “I don’t want to have to hear it.”

Dean sends him a wink that earns him an unimpressed glare, and collects his things before heading back outside. He hears Sam’s phone ringing again as he leaves.

“Enjoy your horse movie,” he calls out as he closes the door, and Sam flips him off as he takes out his phone. Dean doesn’t wait to see what it’s about. Sam will call him if it’s important.

On his way to the motel’s office, he checks his phone to find that Cas’ reported “couple of times” was actually six calls and three messages since last night.

** **

He elects not to answer them. He can’t, not now. Not while he’s here planning to spend his night forgetting Cas exists.

The wood-panelled walls of the motel’s office are scuffed and pin-holed from countless torn down posters, and while he waits for the the clerk to finish what sounds a lot like a personal call, Dean clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth. It’s not a remotely inviting motel.

He’s almost ready to turn on his heel and head across the street to the slightly more expensive Lucky Star Inn just to avoid the stale cigarette smell that seems to cling to everything at Paradise Palm when the clerk finally hangs up. With a bored expression, the clerk hands over the key to a single room on the ground level, closest to the road.

The cheap air freshener plugged into the wall fails to cover the fact that this isn’t actually a non-smoking room, and as soon as he’s stepped inside he plugs his phone in to charge, winds the screened window open, and heads for the shower, trying to ignore the questionable mold on the bathroom ceiling as he scrubs the hunt from his skin.

Just in case, he takes a little extra time to clean himself, sliding a wet finger past his rim and working it slowly inside. He’s careful not to press too deep, lest he gets too turned on to stop and has to bow out of his plan to find a partner for the night, but even the deliberately clinical touch of his own finger has his cock filling against his thigh. With his other hand he turns the hot water down. The shock of cold does the trick.

As soon as he leaves the bathroom, dressed in a dark t-shirt that clings close in all the right places and his best pair of jeans, he unplugs his cell and sits on the bed.

Maybe he was a little slow on the uptake with smartphones, but ever since he put in the effort to figure his out, he’s decided that they’re the best thing since Led Zeppelin. The main reason being hookup apps.

For a guy like Dean, who swings in and out of small towns on a near daily basis, and therefore doesn’t have time to scope out which bars are safe to pick up dudes in, the existence of an app that hand-delivers a list ready and willing partners in his immediate vicinity is fucking godsend.

He’s got one such app hidden in a folder with all the undeletable stockmarket and fitness apps that he’s got no use for, and he navigates to it now, pressing the purple icon firmly with his thumb.

Last time he opened the app was months ago in his room at the bunker, and the nearest potential hookup had been twenty six miles away. Now, there’s two dozen guys close enough to drive to, and three within walking distance. Warren, Steve, and Paul.

At the insistence of his downstairs brain, he checks them out in order of proximity.

Warren is only two hundred feet away and looks like an underwear model, but he gets nixxed immediately for having the douchiest profile Dean has ever encountered; nobody who describes himself as a “prime alpha specimen” is worth talking to, let alone hooking up with. He’d probably get his jollies first, make a perfunctory effort at getting Dean off, and then high five him on his way out the door.

Steve on the other hand has a landscape photo as his profile picture, but Dean’s is just a close up of his mouth pulling into a smirk, so he’s not going to start throwing stones.

He’s got one up on Warren when it comes to his profile; for one thing, it seems like it was actually written by an adult, rather than a frustrated fifteen year old.

Under the interests heading, Steve has listed _long drives with my friends_ , _netflix_ , and _good coffee,_ and though he’s left most of the rest blank, Dean is fine with the basics. He knows that Steve is thirty-nine years old, looking for casual hook-ups, and most importantly, he’s less than five-hundred feet away.

He’s probably staying in the motel across the street.

Dean taps on the camera symbol at the side of the screen and finds one more photo, this one of Steve standing in front of a window at sunset, silhouetted, his face thrown completely into shadow.

** **

Even the outline of his body is difficult to make out through the motion blur, but he’s got dark, unkempt hair and a rumpled white dress shirt that kind of reminds him of Cas. Dean’s a terrible person, he knows, but that’s enough to pique his interest.

He’s still looking at it when an alert pops up to tell him that he’s received a message, and he makes himself more comfortable before he opens it and taps out a reply.

** **

 

Their conversation runs on fast and easy until Dean asks what Steve has in mind.

 

 

It’s almost a full minute before he gets a reply in the form of an incoming video.

The beginning frame shows a slightly pixelated hand over a crotch clad in dark suit pants. Dean doesn’t hesitate to press play.

On the screen, Steve’s hand slides slowly up and down before settling at his belt, and Dean hears the rustle of fabric as he shifts the hand holding the camera. He works the buckle open but doesn’t take off the belt; just loosens it enough to open the fly of his dark dress pants with long, tan fingers.

They skirt the edges of the parted zipper for a moment before dipping inside, and with a twist of his wrist Steve pulls his cock out through the opening, thumbing at the head. It’s red and shiny with arousal, hard and thick and curving up like he’s already been teasing himself, and Dean’s mouth waters as he watches him toy with his slit, pushing the tip of his thumb against it with a low, barely audible gasp before the video ends.

“Jesus,” Dean murmurs, and squeezes himself once through his jeans before he sends another message.

 

** **

He knows he’s being shameless; asking if this guy would _let_ him, like it would be such a chore to have Dean go down on him. But there’s this side of him that rarely sees the light of day, a side that lives to please, to give everything he can, and it’s suddenly raring to go.

** **

It’s ridiculous that the simple compliment makes Dean blush after what he’s already said to this guy, but it does. He feels heat spreading over his cheeks.

** **

There’s a long pause. Dean watches three dots flicker at the bottom of the screen.

Dean laughs under his breath and rubs his hand over his face. He really doesn’t give a damn at this point.

He’s practically crawling out of his skin with need, and this guy is close enough that he could be on his knees within ten minutes. He wasn’t kidding when he said that he wants to suck him off. Steve’s is one of the best looking cocks he’s seen in a long time. Enough that his original plan, which had been to have someone go down on _him_ , goes right out the window.

 _To hell with it_ , he thinks.

** **

Dean snorts and starts to ask where he's staying, but Steve writes again before he can send.

** **

 

 

He’s on his feet in seconds, heading for his bag to dig out a few condoms and a small tube of lube, which he shoves into the back pocket of his jeans along with his cell and the key for the room. Shrugging into his jacket, he hides his smallest pocket knife in the inside pocket, just in case.

The door creaks when he opens it, and he slips outside, hoping that Sam isn’t looking out the window to judge him as he hurries across the street and heads for Lucky Star.

The condoms in his pocket crinkle on every step, a soundtrack to his eager approach. He hasn’t been this amped up for sex since he was a teenager. It’s not surprising; besides those few months after Hell, this is the longest dry spell he’s ever had, and even then he’d still been getting off alone.

Despite only been ten dollars more a night, Dean quickly discovers that Lucky Star is a lot nicer than Paradise Palm. It’s still not the Hilton, but it’s _clean_. The stairs leading up to the second floor have freshly painted walls, and the carpet actually appears to have been vacuumed within the past year. He’s glad Steve asked him to come here; he has a feeling that his own motel room would have been an instant mood killer.

When he reaches room 21, Dean pauses at the door.

He feels a little weird about just going inside without knocking, but Steve told him it would be open, so he’s going for it. If something goes wrong, he’s more than capable of getting himself out of a bad situation.

Unlike the door to his room at the Paradise Palm, it opens smooth and quiet, only the soft _shush_ of its lower edge on the carpet announces his arrival. He closes it gently behind him, pausing just inside to toe off his boots when he sees that Steve has left his own by the door, and moves past the bathroom on his left and into the main room, where two bedside lamps cast warm, orange-tinted light over the walls.

Laying on the bed atop a deep purple comforter, Steve is mostly dressed, his white business shirt untucked and rumpled.

He’s got one hand wrapped loosely around the base of his cock, right where it emerges from the black dress pants he’s still wearing. His other hand is tugging at his dark hair, his arm covering his face where it’s twisted toward the window. Like this, he looks just like Cas.

Dean gulps and takes a step closer, expecting it to break the illusion, but Steve’s arms casts a shadow to obscure his features, and the deep rumbling moan that fills the room, muffled slightly by his arm, only increases the likeness.

Watching him, Dean wonders if Steve’s got some kind of complex about showing his face. If he’d hidden it on purpose in his profile picture. If he’s covering it on purpose now.

If so, he’s not about to judge the guy for it. He knows too well how hard it can be to let people see you. To let them know you.

If Steve wants this to be as anonymous as possible, then Dean’s going to let him have that.

Peeling off his jacket, he takes another step forward, and another, and another, and comes to a stop at the foot of the bed. He drops his jacket to the floor and toys at the top button of his fly, pushing it loose. On the bed, Steve seems to hear him at last, and squeezes himself a little more tightly, and Dean licks his lower lip as he watches, sucking it in between his teeth. His mouth waters at the wet sound of Steve stroking himself.

God, he wishes he could just sink down onto his knees and run his tongue over that pink tip. Suck it between his lips with no barrier and make it shiny-slick; swallow him down until the weight of his cock presses at the back of his throat and the taste of arousal fills his senses.

But he’s never blown a guy without a condom. He’s never rimmed a guy. Never barebacked. He’s wanted to do all three, but when all your sexual partners come in the form of one-night-stands, none are safe or viable options.

Still, he wonders if he should just kneel on the bed and take over, work the guy over with his hand for a while before he gets the condom out and does what he came here to do. But the idea of doing anything at all without at least speaking to him first makes Dean feel twitchy and nervous. Like he’d be taking something without it being offered.

No matter how anonymous this has to be, Dean needs to hear him ask out loud; needs to hear, explicit and clear, that he _wants_ Dean to touch him.

Quietly as possible, he clears his throat and squeezes himself through his jeans, just hard enough to hurt a little, just hard enough to keep himself in check.

“Hey,” he says, and as if the word were a bucket of cold water, Steve _freezes_ , sucking in a sharp breath that sounds terrified. Dean backs up a step as the man desperately scrambles to work himself back into his pants, fumbling with his fly.

It takes Dean a moment to understand what he’s looking at.

 _Who_ he’s looking at.

“What--” he asks, faltering in his step, and Cas just stares at him like a deer in the headlights.


	3. Chapter 3

 

The sound of Cas zipping his fly is far louder than it should be. More jarring. 

Dean’s pretty sure he hears every tooth of the zipper locking into place, and he gulps when he feels his throat closing over. Nothing could have prepared him to deal with something like this.

For the longest moment, he stands frozen and silent, and Cas stares back at him, and Dean can’t find words. Cas is here, and he was jerking off, and he was--

“Dean,” Cas says, his voice breaking the silence so abruptly that even his own eyes seem to widen at the sudden sound. “What are you doing here?”

“What am I-- what are _you_ doing here?” Dean’s voice, when he finally finds it, is far too high. Practically shrill. He clears his throat but it barely makes a difference. “What are you-- you were-- _what the fuck, Cas_?”

“I’m-- Dean, I’m expecting someone, you have to-- you have to--” Cas’ eyes dart toward the door before shifting back to Dean, staring at the unbuttoned waistband of Dean’s jeans with a rapidly forming furrow in his brow as he seems to realize that the guy with the familiar smile wasn’t named Tony at all.

Staring right back at him, at his flushed cheeks and his rumpled shirt, at his fingers anxiously plucking at the fabric of his pants, Dean takes a hoarse breath while his mind races, playing over the conversation he’d just had with “Steve” and letting the words click into place.

 _You have a nice smile_ , he’d said. _It reminds me of a friend of mine._

Dean sucks in a breath when he remembers what came next.

_I’m very much in love with him._

It was him. Cas was talking about _him_. He--

“It’s me,” Dean hears himself say, and Cas’ mouth falls open as he shakes his head, denying what’s right in front of him and making Dean wonder if it’s not too late to pretend this never happened. They could stay just friends. Pretend that neither of them inadvertently confessed their feelings for one another in the middle of an anonymous hookup gone wrong.

“His name is Tony,” Cas says stubbornly, and Dean thinks, _fuck it. I want this. **He** wants this. Stop running._

“Not the first time I've used a fake name, Cas.”

Still, Cas shakes his head.

“But… when I spoke to Sam he told me you were spending the night with a woman you met during the case,” he insists, standing as though to give his voice more weight. “He offered to share his room with me, but I… I didn’t want company. I told him I’d meet you both back at the bunker.”

Dean bites his tongue when he’s tempted to point out that Cas had certainly wanted company ten minutes ago.

“I didn’t know it was you,” Cas goes on, a desperate note to his voice, lifting his hands, palms out, like he thinks he has to placate him. “Dean, _please_ believe that. I swear, I wouldn’t have--” 

“It’s okay,” Dean tells him, but Cas barrels on like he didn’t hear.

“--tricked you into this. I honestly thought you were with that woman, and you never-- and I was--” he presses his eyes shut. “Dean, I was lonely. And I craved touch. So I began to… to stimulate myself manually--” 

“Jesus Christ,” Dean mutters, and covers his face.

“--but it wasn’t enough. I wanted closeness with someone, too,” he looks carefully at Dean, his brow wrinkled. “You're… this isn’t a prank, is it?”

Pulling in a shaky breath, Dean shakes his head.

“But I’m…” Cas frowns, his tongue darting out over his lips before he shakes his head. He huffs a miserable-sounding laugh as he gestures toward himself. “Dean, I’m a _man_.”

Dean feels like he’s leaving his body. He tries a smile. It feels forced and wrong.

“Yeah, that’s never really been a dealbreaker for me,” he says, and scrubs at the back of his neck. “Surprise?”

The expression on Cas’ face is utterly crestfallen, and he speaks again, almost too quiet to hear as he looks at the floor.

“I’d always assumed that the shape of my vessel was the biggest obstacle.”

“Have you looked in a mirror lately?” Dean asks him, taking a hesitant step forward. Cas jerks his head back up. “Your shape is... fuck, it’s the last thing I’d call an _obstacle_ , Cas. I’d probably think you were hot even if I wasn’t into guys. You won the vessel lottery.”

Somehow, Dean’s comment only serves to make him look more upset. Not exactly a shocker, considering how rough the whole thing with Jimmy Novak had been, even if Cas has been driving solo for years. _Real nice_ , Dean thinks to himself.

“So it’s personal,” Cas says before he can attempt to remove the foot from his mouth, and his laugh is a hollow, miserable thing. “It’s who I am that you don’t want.” 

Dean opens his mouth to tell him just how far off base he is, but Cas lifts his hand and keeps talking.

“I suppose I should be used to it by now. It’s the whole reason I let Nora talk me into trying out a dating app, even if I couldn’t bring myself to use it until now.”

The name rings a bell, but with everything that’s happening, Dean’s mind struggles to latch on.

“Nora?”

“The woman I worked for in Rexford. After you left, she assumed that you and I were ex-lovers,” Cas explains, still not looking at Dean. “I didn’t correct her. It was true enough, for me anyway. You were someone I was stuck on, and you didn’t want me, and--”

“You keep saying that,” Dean cuts in. “Why do you keep saying that like you know?”

“I--”

“Do you know why I even decided to take this case, Cas?”

Cas just shakes his head.

“Being around you constantly these past few weeks, having you so close--”

“You don’t want me to be close,” Cas guesses, and Dean lets out a frustrated sound as he finally lets himself walk around the bed to where Castiel is standing.

“I want you to be _closer_ ,” he says, and grabs hold of his arms, forcing Cas to look at him. “Fuck, Cas, I want… I want you to stay. I want _this_ ,” he lifts one hand to cup Cas’ cheek, thumb sweeping over his stubble. “I want what I said when you were Steve and I was Tony, except… except the no strings part. It scares the crap outta me, but I think if it was you I could stand the strings, y’know?”

Cas stares at him.

“You’re in the same boat,” Cas says after a long moment, finally seeming to remember the rest of the conversation. “That’s-- I said I was-- and you said you were-- you had a friend, too, and you would think of-- Dean, am I that friend?”

“Not exactly how I would have chosen to tell you, but… yeah. Of course I was talking about you, Cas,” Dean says, and the effect is instant; Cas lifts his hand to rest against Dean’s sternum, a look of wonder and hope winning out over the tense sadness that had been written all over his face before. 

The warm press of his palm is the most grounding thing Dean has ever felt. Even as his heartbeat races, he feels himself calming under the weight of his hand and his gaze, steady and deep.

“How would you have told me?” Cas asks after a moment, and Dean exhales, slow.

“Honestly? I probably wouldn’t have.”

“Ever?” Cas’ expression falters minutely, and he moves his thumb lightly over Dean’s chest. 

Dean drops his own hand to settle over it.

“You’ve met me, right? I’m not exactly the poster boy for sharing. Words don’t… I’m not great with words. That doesn’t mean it’s not real.”

Cas nods, but his eyes are fixed on Dean’s hand over his. He turns his hand to weave their fingers together.

“You really want me.”

“Yeah.”

“You want to be with me,” he looks up, meeting Dean’s eyes fully.

Dean’s lips have gone dry. He runs his tongue over the lower before pulling it between his teeth on an exhale, nodding as his eyes dart between Cas’.

“Yeah, I do.”

Cas’ throat clicks before he speaks, his voice barely more than a whisper.

“You can have me.”

It’s surprisingly easy for Dean to lean forward, then. Like kissing Cas is his natural state and this is his long-awaited return.

Cas’ lips taste cool and sweet, like fresh water. Dean’s been in the desert for months. He drinks him in, kissing him over and over until his lips finally part, and the deepening kiss sends him reeling.

“Thank you,” Cas whispers in between each press, moving away from Dean’s mouth to trail his lips along his jaw, up to his ear and back again. “Thank you, thank you,” and Dean doesn’t know what to do with the reverence he hears. The note of _holy, holy, holy_ that resonates in Cas’ rough voice. All he can do is keep kissing him, keep following the movement of Cas’ lips and forcing himself to accept that Cas could want him like this, could think him worthy. Dean sure as hell doesn’t think he is, but he’s not about to tell Cas he’s wrong. He can be selfless, but not in this. Not when he wants so wholly, so desperately.

At the quiet, satisfied hum that Cas breathes into his mouth when Dean finally kisses him silent, Dean slides his hands lower over his back and pulls Cas’ body forward until he can feel every inch of him, every rise and fall of his chest, every involuntary rock of his hips as their kiss deepens.

A little voice in the back of his head tells him he should _slow down, don’t rush_ , but when Cas responds to Dean biting softly on his lower lip by rocking against his thigh, it promptly fuzzes out.

He shifts, lifting his leg just so, and groans when he feels the heated line of Cas’ cock pressing against him, still at half mast despite all the talking. 

The memory of what he’d seen when he walked in comes unbidden, and Dean’s own arousal rushes back like an unseen wave, crashing over him with violent force to send him spinning into the deep.

The sound of their quickening breath mingles, growing rougher by the moment, and Dean catches hold of Cas’ waist to hold him still, amazed when Cas lets him do it. He pulls back just enough to look down to where they’re pressing together, and moves his hips in a slow, torturous grind. The friction against his cock is luscious and heady, and he angles himself _just so_ to line himself up with Cas’ erection.

“ _Dean_ ,” Cas all but whines, looking desperate to strain forward but not breaking Dean’s hold, and Dean’s breath shudders in his chest.

He wants to keep up the tease, but his own legs feel weak, so he presses his fingertips to the center of Cas’ chest to push gently until Cas gets the idea and climbs backward onto the bed.

Dean crawls over him in an instant and then _stops_ , his hands on either side of Cas’ head, his knees near his hips, their bodies close but not touching. The idea of drawing this out is thrilling, but more than that Dean just doesn’t know where to begin. He’s wanted so much, for so long, that finally being allowed to have is overwhelming.

“Are you alright?” Cas asks him, voice low and warm as an old record, and his breath tickles over Dean’s lips.

Their noses bump together when Dean leans down. His heart thunders in his chest.

“Yeah,” he says, closing his eyes as he gives into the desire to nuzzle against him. “Just... tell me if I’m going too fast, okay?”

“Not possible,” Cas tells him, and Dean squirms when he feels cool, agile fingers sliding under his t-shirt, feather-light against his stomach. Cas slows his touch. “Bad?”

“Tickles,” Dean tells him through a laugh, and presses his lips to Cas’ stubbled jaw.

“Ahh,” Cas replies.

His hands repeat their teasing motion, skip-skimming over Dean’s soft belly and around to his sides. Instead of letting himself be embarrassed by the firm abs he doesn’t have, Dean just dips his head to catch Cas’ mouth before moving to bite and suck his way down over his Adam’s apple, tugging at his already loosened collar.

Dean only has to dip his fingers underneath it to make the third button come free.

“Why’d you still have all this on, anyway?” Dean wonders aloud, stroking over the skin of his throat as he opens the fourth button and drops a kiss to the newly exposed skin.

“I thought it might be too intimate,” Cas says between pleased-sounding sighs, still working his own fingers beneath Dean’s shirt. “To be completely naked in front of a stranger.”

Dean pulls back slightly to look at him, and Cas glares, tilting his head back to expose his throat in a silent command to continue. Dean fails to fight off his laugh, resting his forehead against Cas’ chest until he can stop long enough to speak.

“Buddy,” he says, looking back up at him, “when I walked in you had your dick in your hand.”

“That isn’t necessarily _intimate_ ,” Cas argues, though his cheeks flush a little. Dean can’t help but wonder if he has any control over that. If he’s eased up on his angel mojo a little, just so he can have this. “I’d planned on having a casual encounter with a man I didn’t expect to see past this evening. No-strings-attached, remember? I wished to achieve mutual orgasm, and then drive back to the bunker with a clearer mind. But I have no qualms about being intimate with you. In fact, I’d much prefer it, if the offer is on the table.”

“It is,” Dean breathes, nodding as he wets his lips. “It definitely is.”

“Good,” Cas replies, and looks at Dean levelly before a smirk plays at the corner of his mouth. It makes Dean nervous, but damn does he like the sight of it. It means Cas is finally realizing the effect he has on Dean; it means that he’s contemplating letting go.

Fumbling the buttons thanks to his newly intensified nerves, Dean finally works Cas’ shirt completely open and sits back to push it down his arms, tossing it to the floor by the bed before taking hold of his own t-shirt and pulling it off in one smooth motion.

The feeling of Cas’ wide palms sliding up over his bare stomach, his chest, his shoulders, is a kind of comfort he'd forgotten he could have. He feels whole, perfect under Cas’ rapt attention. Like he's really worth something. 

In his head, he hears Cas’ whispered _thank you’s_ repeated. 

The memory burns through him like wildfire, and he catches Cas’ hands, holding them fast where they rest on his shoulders, trying to hold on to the physical sensation of being wanted until the feeling in his chest catches up.

As though he can sense Dean's fear that he’s not worth any of this, Cas pushes himself to sitting, the motion setting off a flurry of pleasure when it forces their groins to drag against each other through their clothes.

“I have needed you for so long,” he says before he kisses him deeply, sliding his hands free so he can hold him closer, tighter. “I have wanted you for longer.”

Cas’ chest is warm against his, but the sensation of skin on skin still sends another involuntary tremor through Dean’s core. His hands tremble as he slides them over Cas’ biceps, down his sides.

“ _Cas_ ,” he says, but he doesn't have any words to follow. Can't find a way to articulate what he's feeling, what this means to him, how much he's craved this. So he lays him back down, and peppers his skin with kisses while repeating his name, and hopes that Cas hears the _holy_ in his voice, too.

If not for the insistent pulse of want between his thighs, Dean thinks he could happily stay like this for hours, tracing his hands and lips over every inch of Cas’ exposed skin, cataloguing his reactions. He _gasp_ -sigh- _ **moans**_ when Dean pinches his right nipple, but flinches when the left is given the same treatment; he lets out a startled laugh and squirms when Dean tickles his sides. Dean nibbles his earlobes and sucks on his fingers and squeezes his arms, committing every incoherent sound and shiver to memory.

But with each moment, Dean feels himself aching a little more, a hunger in his core growing to the point of agony. When he couples a bite to Cas’ shoulder with a well-timed drag of a thigh over his groin, the combined reaction of eyes-rolling-back and fractured keening makes him desperate for more.

He traces the edge of Cas’ waistband with his index finger, slipping just beneath.

“You want to take these off?” he asks, shifting so he can breath the question into the skin below his ear, and Cas nods in lieu of speaking out loud, running his hand over Dean’s forearm before he pulls at his own fly.

Dean kneels on the edge of the bed to watch as he kicks the suit pants free, the belt buckle jingling as it hits the floor. The white cotton shorts he’s been wearing underneath are objectively the least sexy pair of boxers Dean has ever seen, but right now they're the only thing between him and Cas’ swollen cock, so he stares at them with a hunger that he’s sure he’ll find embarrassing later.

There’s a wet patch forming near the waist band, and the fabric is just thin enough that Dean can see the flushed tip pressing against it.

He wants to tear them off with his teeth; he wants to take them off so slow that Cas starts begging.

Decisions.

Cas hooks his thumbs under the waistband before he can choose, and Dean reaches out to stop him.

“Let me,” he says. Cas’ eyes seem to darken at the words, and he smirks again.

“You like undressing me,” he says, moving his hands away and flattening them against the mattress.

“I like that you trust me to take care of you,” he counters, and pulls the boxers down an inch, two, three, until Cas’ cock is trapped, pinned to his hip by the elastic, wet and red with need. “I like that you trust me to make it good, even while I’m making you wait.”

Carefully, he scratches his nails over the dark trail of hair leading down from his belly button, and Cas’ stomach quivers and jumps with the sensation, so Dean does it again, letting out a quiet, awed breath when Cas squirms beneath his touch.

“You’re so…”

“What?” Cas asks, breathless, and Dean tickles his fingers over Cas’ hips again, watching how he arches into the touch.

“I dunno… responsive. I thought you might not feel stuff as much.”

“I can _ahh--_ feel that,” Cas tells him, breathless as Dean draws his boxers low enough to fully expose him to the cool air of the room, lightly touching the vein along the side. Cas’ cock jerks at the sensation, dripping, and without pause Dean swipes the tip of his finger over the tip, raising it to his lips to suck it clean. It’s salty and a little bitter, with a faint sweetness that Dean wants to chase. “ _Please_ , Dean.”

The sound of him begging is more than Dean can bear, and he slides the shorts the rest of the way off immediately, tossing them out of sight. With Cas suddenly naked from head to toe, spread out, rapturous and gasping, Dean can’t help the sound he makes as he reaches down between his own legs to alleviate the growing pressure.

Cas sits up before he can touch himself, knocking his hand away and holding Dean’s gaze while he furiously works open his button fly like he’s on a mission from God.

“I like undressing you too,” Cas tells him, hands fast and needy. “But I’m tired of waiting.”

He yanks down _hard_ , stripping Dean of his underwear and jeans in one swift movement, and it’s so rough that Dean has to catch hold of his shoulder just to keep from falling backwards off the bed.

Stumbling, he scrambles to his feet, peeling them the rest of the way off before Cas manages to tear through denim, and when they hit the floor his phone falls noisily out of the back pocket, along with the lube. When Dean ducks down to grab the tube and toss it onto the bed, the metallic purple edge of a condom wrapper catches his eye.

He bites his lip. All his usual fears are moot.

Cas is definitely not a one-night-stand, and what’s more, he’s an angel. If anything, Dean’s going to end up cleaner than he started. 

Still, he wasn’t raised by wolves. He takes a condom and holds it up, and Cas slowly shifts his gaze from Dean’s groin. When he sees what Dean is holding he meets his eyes and bites on the edge of his thumb in a manner so casual and human that Dean knows he’s doing it on purpose.

“Perhaps it’s a blatant misuse of my abilities as an angel,” Cas tells him, “but I can assure you that won’t be necessary. Unless you want to use it.”

Dean smirks and tosses the condom over his shoulder to land somewhere unseen. Cas lifts his brow.

“You know what I was thinking about when I first walked in here?” Dean asks him, kneeling on the mattress and running his hand from Cas’ ankle, up over his shin.

“Tell me.”

“I was thinking,” Dean says, and leans down to kiss the inside of his knee before pushing it to the side and moving to his inner thigh. “About how smooth your cock looked.” He delivers a soft bite to his thigh. “What it would feel like in my mouth, stretching my lips,” he adds, licking the skin before biting again. “How good it would feel to take your cock. Make you come. Swallow everything you gave me.”

With the kind of glacial slowness that is almost as difficult to deliver as it is to receive, Dean works his way up Cas’ thigh, biting and sucking and licking and kissing until he can feel the heat of Cas’ cock radiating against his cheek, close but not touching. Running his thumb into the velvet-soft crease of his groin, catching against the dark curl of hair, Dean looks up to see his chest heaving, his hands twisted into the comforter, and pulls away completely.

Cas blinks his eyes open at once, pushing up onto his elbows.

“You want something?” Dean asks him innocently, and Cas opens and closes his mouth a couple of times before he catches on to the game and spreads his legs wider, hitching up his knees. “Why don’t you tell me?”

“I want your mouth,” Cas tells him, and Dean grins, wolfish as he grabs hold of Cas’ legs and pushes them a little further apart, letting his shoulders press against the sweat-damp underside of Cas’ thighs as he delivers an open-mouthed kiss below his navel.

“Like that?” he asks, scraping his teeth over the skin, and Cas just groans, raising his hips up slightly until Dean can feel his cock against his collarbone, heated and smooth and hard as stone. The feeling of it slipping wet over his bare skin makes his own cock ache with need, and he wonders which of them is going to cave in first.

“I want you to…” Cas trails off, and Dean squeezes his muscular thighs, licking at his stomach and sucking a bruise there until Cas seems to find the words, remembering Dean's message. “I want you to suck me off.”

Dean can almost hear the quotation marks, and he’s torn between laughing out loud and the all-encompassing need to do as he’s been asked when Cas speaks again, repeating more of Dean's words back to him.

“Take my cock,” he stutters out, shifting restlessly. “Make me come.”

“Yes, sir,” Dean hears himself saying without a hint of sarcasm, and before Cas can react he shuffles back until he can duck down, letting his tongue flick with teasing lightness over the swollen glans. 

He’s dripping with arousal and Dean licks it all away, catching what drips down the shaft with his fingers and sucking them clean. Cas’ moans turn to breathless whimpers and sighs, and when another clear bead of fluid forms at the head, Dean finally parts his lips to take him fully into his mouth.

He’s just as smooth as he looked, and Dean sinks down, taking him as deep as he can. His lips slide easily along the length, tongue teasing at that singular vein along the edge before he sucks in earnest. Cas makes a noise like he’s dying, body shuddering against the mattress and glistening with sweat, and when he thinks he’s getting close Dean pulls off with a pop to stroke him with one hand.

“I want to try something,” he says, and Cas pries his eyes open to look at him as he nods.

“Do it.”

Before he can second guess himself, Dean grips his ass with two hands, spreads him wide, and licks a long, wet stripe over his hole, all the way to his perineum. Cas’ hand slaps loudly back against the headboard, and Dean does it again, pressing more insistently over his rim with the flat of his tongue before flicking at it with the tip.

“Good?” he asks.

“ _Very_ ,” Cas says on his third attempt at speech, and Dean settles in to lick him more, dragging his tongue over the pink furl of his hole until the skin is spit-slick and shining. He’s wondered for years what this might be like, but he never thought he’d get to find out. Certainly not with Cas. 

But somehow the tides changed, and he’s got his face buried between the thighs of an angel, and the sounds that he’s pulling from him with every curl and swirl of his tongue are proof enough of Heaven.

When Cas starts to bear down against him, Dean fumbles blindly until he finds the lube, and flips the cap with his fingernail. Without breaking the pattern of teasing pressure he’s painting with his tongue, he slicks up his fingers and works one gradually along the cleft of Cas’ ass until it finds the bud he’s been teasing.

As he pulls back to watch, Cas’ hole seems to twitch in rhythm with his pulse, and Dean lets out an unsteady breath at the sight of it opening and closing under the steady touch of his fingertip. Cas lets out a helpless sound of need, and Dean presses in to the first knuckle, twists as he pulls back, forth, in, out, curling, deeper, faster, curling, plunging, _curling_ , and Cas’ body grows more and more tense until his hands catch in Dean’s hair and _tug_.

“Dean, please, please,” he stutters, and Dean eases his finger back out as slow and gentle as he can manage. “ _Please_.”

“Too much?” he asks, and Cas just shakes his head, rubbing his hair against the pillows in the process, and Dean strokes along his thighs with soft palms until he seems to catch his breath.

“Please, just--” Cas looks down at him and slides his hands from Dean’s hair to the sides of his face. “Dean, kiss me again.”

Dean lets himself be dragged up for a kiss, nibbling on Cas’ lower lip as his still-wet hand skims over Cas’ stomach. His heart feels like it’s ready to burst right out of his body, so overwhelmed with the thought that Cas could want to kiss him so badly.

They kiss for so long that everything beyond their joined lips and the constant but unwavering need to get his mouth around Cas again fades into the background. By the time Dean starts to tease at him again, Cas is just as needy for it, and convincing him to sit at the edge of the bed is as simple as one whispered request. Once he’s there Dean sinks to his knees and wraps a lubed fist around him before he can ask what Dean’s planning.

In the lamplight, Cas’ skin is golden and ethereal, and Dean watches in fascination as he grows ever thicker in his hand. He makes his motions smooth and measured, leaning in to tongue at his sac and bite his thigh whenever he decides to up the speed, and by the time he’s worked up to pumping him in a rapid, frantic motion, Cas’ entire chest is sweat-soaked and aglow in the reflected light.

“There you are, buddy,” Dean says as Cas starts to lift his hips from the bed, fingers digging into the comforter. Cas’ whole body lurches upward, and Dean stops his hand abruptly, squeezing around the base as he shuffles forward to direct Cas’ cockhead to his parted lips.

“Come on,” he murmurs, darting his tongue out and relishing the stuttered cry it elicits. “Let me have it, Cas.”

Closing his lips over the head, he loosens his grip on the base and sucks, _hard_. The bedside table rattles when Cas’ hand flies out, seeking a solid surface as he rises up onto the balls of his feet, and his cock gives one last jolt, slipping out from between Dean’s lips to paint his chest white. He cries out when Dean guides him back into his mouth, desperate for every drop.

Dean sucks him dry, swallows everything that spills and doesn’t relent until Cas is a trembling, shuddering mess, clawing weakly at Dean’s scalp.

Licking his lips, Dean pushes to his feet and leans down to kiss him, loving the way Cas clings to him as he dips his tongue into his mouth. Castiel kisses back lazily, dazed, and Dean feels a thrill at the thought that he’s the one who made him this way.

“You taste different,” Cas says against his lips, and kisses him more deeply, licking into his mouth. “You taste like me.”

“You like it?”

“More than I expected to,” Cas admits, and trails his fingers through the mess on Dean’s chest, rubbing it into the skin before wrapping his hand around Dean’s straining cock. The cooling come tingles on Dean’s fevered skin. He can’t help his gasp. “I’d like to taste you, too.”

“Yeah?”

“Mm,” Cas says, toying with the head as Dean rocks forward. “Later. First I think I’d like you to continue what you started.”

“What’s that?”

“I’d like to feel your fingers again,” Cas tells him, then squeezes his cock. “And then I’d like for you to fill me.”

“You want me to fuck you?”

“Would you?” Cas asks, drawing him down to mouth along Dean’s jaw. The rasp of his stubble against Dean’s is torturous in its lightness. Dean wants more. “I would give anything to feel you safe and whole inside me. Dean, I _need_ to feel that again.”

At that, Dean pull slightly away to look at him in confusion.

“What do you mean _again_?”

“The day we met,” Cas says, his voice low and reverent, as he strokes his palms over Dean’s chest, catching on his nipples and teasing them to hardness, “I cradled your soul within my grace. I held everything of you within everything of me, and we were two and one together. We knew nothing of each other, and it was months before we were even friends, but… Dean, we will never be that close again.” His hands curl, fingernails scratching lightly at Dean’s skin. “I just want some shadow of it. To feel proof of your life, your love, your _everything_ inexorably twined with me.” 

By the time he stops speaking, there’s a desperate edge to his voice that Dean has never heard, and it takes everything he has to keep himself from spilling at the sound.

“Whatever you want,” he hears himself saying in between kisses he suddenly can’t stop, crawling into Cas’ lap and holding him close. “God, Cas. _Fuck_. I'll give you whatever you want. Give you everything.”

“You'll come in me?” Cas asks, like he's testing the word, and it's a miracle Dean manages to answer out loud.

“Yeah, I will,” Dean tells him, stroking hands through his hair. “I'll fill you, sweetheart. I'll make it so good for you. Show you how good you are for me.”

Cas smiles up at him and moves to roll over onto his stomach, and Dean catches hold of his arm.

“Wait, wait. Just… let me look at you a minute,” he says, and when Cas just watches him with all of that love in his eyes, Dean suddenly feels the night catch up to him. 

He can’t believe the left turn his life has made in the past few hours. The clock by the bed says it’s a few minutes past midnight, but it might as well be next year for all that’s happened. The shameless sounds, the demands and pleas and declarations he’s been making in front of Cas all come back in a rush, and the self conscious feeling has a furious blush creeping from his cheeks down to his chest. Castiel's fingers trace over it as it appears.

"I love it when you blush," he says, his voice low, and Dean can't help but grin, even as he feels his face burning an even brighter crimson. "You're stunning."

"Shut up," Dean says, squirming, and Castiel laughs, leaning up to kiss his cheeks, his throat, his collarbone.

"Not until you believe me," Cas kisses him again. “And possibly not even then."

The way Cas looks at him, like he’s the most important thing in existence, makes Dean tremble to his core, but he doesn’t flinch away. Just moves his fingers into sweat-damp hair, letting the curls tangle around his thumbs as he kisses him once more, pushing every ounce of feeling he can muster from his lips, because everything Cas thinks of Dean, Dean thinks of him _,_ only he’s less capable of saying it.

So he kisses _you’re breathtaking_ into his mouth; weaves _I need you so much_ into his hair; strokes _I love everything that you are_ into the bow of his lips.

When he stops, Cas is still smiling, and Dean feels like he’s floating.

“Okay, I take it back, you can lay on your stomach now,” he says, fighting off the grin that’s making his cheeks ache as he pushes Cas away.

Cas complies without question, and once he’s laying down Dean squeezes his thighs, pushing until he’s on his knees and Dean can drape over him to kiss the nape of his neck as he slides his index finger over his rim. There’s nowhere near enough resistance, and his finger slips all the way inside with no effort at all, despite the lack of lube.

When Cas pushes back, seeking more, Dean strokes his other hand from his neck down to his ass, loving the smooth glide over sweat-dampened skin.

“Cas,” he says, wriggling his finger inside before sliding it out a little. It feels like he could slide a second in without even trying. “Don’t get me wrong, but are you, um… misusing your angel mojo for this?”

“Perhaps,” Cas hedges, and Dean can’t help but grin even as he shakes his head.

“If it’s more comfortable for you, keep doing it,” Dean says, dragging his finger back out slowly to coat it in a generous amount of lube before pushing just as slowly back in. “But if you’re just trying to hurry things along? _Don’t_.“ Leaning down, he kisses the blade of his shoulder, peppering the skin all the way to his neck. “I’m planning to take my time.”

Cas doesn’t respond out loud, but Dean feels him tighten, just a little, and rewards him with a slow curl of his finger, catching the tip against his prostate on the third pass. Judging by the noise he makes, Dean thinks he must appreciate it.

He kisses the dimples on his lower back and makes the next thrust of his finger a little harder, twisting as he pushes it as deep as he can.

“Do you want more?” he asks, his mouth turning up a little at one side, and Cas presses his elbows against the bed so he can look back over his shoulder. He cants his hips back in silence.

Dean smirks.

“I think I’d like to hear you ask.”

“Give me more, Dean,” Cas says, a needy air to his tone that makes Dean feel strangely giddy. “ _Please_.”

Spreading him open to watch as he teases his middle finger around the rim before sliding it alongside the first, Dean bites down on the inside of his cheek. The need to touch himself is all-encompassing, but he forces himself to focus on getting Cas there first. He hasn’t come in a month; he can wait a few more minutes. 

When he scissors his fingers to stretch him out, he catches against his prostate again. Cas whimpers against the pillow, his voice muffled in such a way that Dean’s pretty sure he’s biting it. He feels his dick throb at the knowledge that he drew such a reaction out of him.

“ _Dean_ ,” Cas practically growls his name, and in response Dean pushes a third finger in, twisting on every second stroke. The slick-wet sound as he works them ever deeper is all but drowned out by Cas’ gasps, growing louder, more wrecked by the second.

He pulls out completely, watching as Cas’ hole contracts and dilates with need, then plunges them back in. Deeper. Faster. Harder. When Cas reaches behind himself to press at his own stretched rim, trying to slip his own fingers alongside Dean’s, he has to grasp the base of his cock to keep from coming.

“ _Fuck_ ,” he breathes, his hand’s movement stopping completely with the effort at holding himself off, and before he knows it his fingers have slipped free.

Turning over, Cas pushes up until he’s sitting and bats Dean’s hand away from his cock.

“Cas, I’m--” Dean starts, backing off the bed to stand as he tries to warn him how close he is, but Cas pays him no attention as he draws it into his mouth. He’s not shy about it, either, gripping Dean’s ass firmly with both hands and pulling him closer. 

The heat of his mouth around Dean’s cock is exquisite. Dean watches himself disappearing into his stretched lips until Cas swallows him fully, throat fluttering around the tip of his cock and sending him rushing toward the edge too soon. His eyes roll back in his head, and he pulls urgently at Cas’ hair.

“St-- _ahh_ , Cas, stop. _Stop_.”

Cas pulls off far enough to look up at him, and Dean wobbles a little, struggling to remain upright and hold off his orgasm at the same time. It’s a fucking miracle he hasn’t come already.

“Was that alright?” Cas asks him, fingers stroking over Dean’s ass, and Dean laughs, taking a shaky step backward when the motion of his laughter knocks him a little off balance.

“ _Too_ alright,” he manages to reply, and suddenly Cas is on his feet, stepping closer. “Had to stop or I was gonna--”

He cuts himself off when he feels Cas’ hand on his chest, and takes a tiny step back when Cas pushes him lightly. 

“Sit,” Cas says after another few steps, and Dean complies without even looking, sinking into a chair he didn't know was there. The fabric is rough and scratchy on his bare ass, but he loses the desire to complain when Cas crawls into his lap, hands firm against the backrest, elbows just barely resting on Dean’s shoulders and boxing him in. 

Dean’s cock slips along the cleft of his ass, slick with lube, and the silky slide is almost too much to bear.

Cas’ body is trembling, a taut wire ready to snap. Holding his gaze, Dean reaches between them to guide himself to Cas’ hole. He presses, presses, _presses,_ and at last something gives, as Cas’ body swallows him up until he’s enveloped in heat, squeezed by soft inner walls as he sinks ever deeper.

“ _Ahh_ ,” Cas says in a tone far too matter-of-fact for Dean’s liking, but it’s barely a second before it fractures and shifts, his mouth losing track of the shape it’s making until the sound has turned into a stuttered and drawn-out, “ _Oh- ohh_.”

“You good?” Dean manages to ask, holding as still as he can while Cas gets used to the feeling of being split in two, and with shuttered eyes Cas leans forward until his sweat-dampened forehead is resting against Dean’s.

“ _Mm_ ,” he slurs. “I’m incredible.”

“Yeah, you are,” Dean says, and Cas huffs out a laugh that makes his stomach tense, which does interesting things to the place where Dean is pressed inside him. “ _Jesus_.”

Digging his heels into the floor, Dean cants his hips upward, lifting Cas in the process, and hears the slap of hands on the wall behind him before Cas bears back down, rolling his hips in such a way that Dean loses track of all coherent thought.

When Dean comes back to himself Cas is fucking down onto him in a steady rhythm, and his own fingers are tangled in Cas’ hair. He’s almost close enough to kiss, but not quite, and as soon as Cas strains forward Dean tightens his grip, not letting him close the distance. 

He can feel the desperate breath against his lips, feel the way Cas keeps trying to get closer, closer, _closer_ , and he pulls at his hair a little, yanking his head back as he leans forward, just to keep the tease going a little longer.

When he finally eases his hold, their kiss is electric.

Between them, Cas’ cock is at full attention, blush-red and twitching. Dean takes hold of it with his free hand, stroking it in a loose fist and dragging his thumb along the vein along the bottom.

“How,” he asks between thrusts, “are you already hard again?”

“I have total control over this body,” Cas tells him, swivelling his hips slowly around and squeezing Dean inside him. “Including it’s refractory period.”

“That--” Dean heaves in a breath, digging his fingers into the firm flesh of Cas’ thigh as he slows his thrusts. “Could come in handy.”

Leaning forward, Cas ghosts his lips over Dean’s ear.

“I could do the same for you, if you like.”

“Seriously?”

“Mm,” Cas murmurs, biting softly on Dean’s earlobe. “I could make you come over and over. You could stay inside me for an hour of constant climax, and still be hard when we switch places, taking my release into yourself while spilling your own all over those beautiful thighs.”

Impossibly, Dean feels himself thicken even more at the suggestion.

“You’re so much more of a freak than I exp _ected_ ,” he says, a little awed, and Cas tenses around him again, smirking when it makes him moan halfway through the last word.

“Is that a complaint?”

“ _Hell_ no.”

“Good,” Cas breathes, shifting again. “Because I want you every way I can have you.”

“You can have me any way you want,” Dean replies, and lets go, pressing as deep into Cas as he can, pistoning his hips in a relentless rhythm that has his thighs aching with effort.

He coasts through the burn in his muscles, careening closer and closer to the edge and desperate to reach it, and when he finally slams home he barely knows who he is. 

Even though they’ve just talked about it, the tingling hum of healing grace comes as a surprise, and when he feels it making him fatten and fill again in seconds flat he curls his toes into the carpet and whines. Cas just clamps down on him, holding him in place, and rocks back and forth, his own cock slapping against Dean’s waist until he regains enough cognitive function to remember that he has working hands.

He jacks him off in time with his own thrusts, the cooling-wet evidence of his last orgasm running down his cock as he keeps fucking into him, and Cas shudders and writhes his way over another peak.

Dean comes four more times before he claws weakly at Cas’ chest, and stares, fascinated, when Cas slides off of him, standing over him on wobbly legs.

He feels drenched with sweat, and he leans forward to rest his forehead against Cas’ stomach as he catches his breath. He can't help but trail his fingers back between Cas' legs to touch his puffy rim. The feel of his own come leaking out makes his rapidly-filling cock throb so forcefully he sees stars.

“ _Fuck_ ,” he mumbles, voice hoarse like he’s been shouting, though he has no memory of doing so. “God, _Cas_ , you feel so…”

He doesn’t have the words. He doesn’t. So he pushes at Cas’ hip until he turns and stands behind him, flush against his back, and slides back inside easily, slicked by his own release. Sinks deep a few times before pushing him forward to kneel on the bed so he can take him again, stuffing him full. Cas’ body squeezes around him with perfect pressure, tight and incredible, but Dean knows he could take more.

Pressing at his rim where it’s stretched around his cock, Dean slips a finger in alongside it. _Cas could probably take two cocks at once_ , he thinks, and the thought has him coming all over again, Cas squeezing him through it until he pulls out.

On his hands and knees, Cas arches his back, panting, and Dean pushes aside all thought as he crouches behind him to spread him open. His hole is red and gaping, fluttering open with every breath Cas takes, Dean’s come running out and down his thighs. Catching it with his fingers, Dean pushes it back into him and swipes his tongue over it without a thought. 

Cas bucks desperately back against him as he slowly and thoroughly licks him clean. As he goes, Dean becomes aware of rose-colored light leeching through the curtains. 

His energy is flagging, even if his libido hasn’t calmed down, and he wraps one arm around Cas’ stomach as he cleans him up. _Angelic stamina is officially ridiculous,_ he thinks, and because he can, delivers a sharp pinch to his firm ass.

“Can I,” Cas starts, his body seizing and spasming as Dean licks over his overstimulated hole. “Dean, can I try something?”

“Yeah,” Dean says, pointing his tongue to push the very tip inside, chasing the last of his come. “But I’m gonna have to sleep soon. You can pump me full of angel viagra until the cows come home, but I’m still only human.”

“You won’t have to do a thing,” Cas assures him, shuffling out of reach and gesturing for Dean to lay on the bed. “I’ll take care of you.”

On his back, Dean blinks lazily up at Cas as he moves to stand beside the bed, watching him.

“You just gonna stare at me, Cas?” Dean asks, opening one eye to look at him. “Because I think we filled that quota five years ago.”

“I’m not just going to stare,” Cas replies, a wry tilt to his mouth as he looks down at Dean. “Would you like me to tell you what I’m planning?”

“Mm,” Dean says, and rubs his hand over his stomach. “Tell me.”

“Put your hands at your sides,” Cas tells him. “Don’t touch yourself.”

“Love it when you take charge,” Dean teases, but he does what he’s told, pressing his hands flat against the bed. It’s nice, he thinks, to stop moving. He’s still a little hard, but he thinks he might fall asleep at any moment.

“I’m going to use my grace to stimulate your prostate,” Cas tells him, and as soon as the words have left his mouth Dean feels the distinct sensation of _something_ skittering across the sensitive nerves.

“ _Fuck_ ,” he breathes, eyes bugging wide. He clutches the tangled blankets to keep from moving.

“I will keep doing _this_ ,” he moves his hand in the air in a circular motion, and Dean’s hips lift off the bed as he arches against the sensation of something bright and electric inside. “Until you come.”

“Jesus,” Dean gulps.

“And then, with your permission, I will slick myself in your spend, and make love to you.”

There’s not even a whisper of grace to blame when Dean’s cock fattens against his thigh.

“I take it you approve,” Cas says, licking his lip, and Dean attempts to glare at him.

“Smug is an ugly color on you, buddy,” he says, though his voice wavers with want, and in retaliation Cas wriggles his fingers mid-air, making something warm and incredible thrum against Dean’s prostate. 

It’s like being filled by light, or sound, or some combination of both, and as Cas teases him relentlessly Dean thinks distantly of wavelengths. 

Cas is made of sound and color, and he’s playing Dean like a theremin, shifting his hands all around but never touching. _Why isn’t he touching_ , Dean thinks, and bows his back when another pass over his prostate sends him into delirium.

“Touch me,” he can hear himself begging, and Cas just whispers, “ _Soon_.”

He feels suffused in Cas’ light, the warmth of it spreading from his core and outward to his limbs like a heady rush of love that has him tensing and relaxing all at once. He wants to come, desperately, and he wants Cas to kiss him even more.

“Please, please, just, Cas, touch me, need you, please--”

He babbles, writhes against the mattress, and Cas just draws it out until every nerve is aflame, until the fervent quaking hum of his grace surges through Dean with raw power and he comes screaming, unaware of the sound until he finds himself hoarse and panting on the come down..

And all at once there are warm, wide palms stroking over his arms and chest. Rubbing at his shoulders. Massaging his shins. He feels the cool-hot press of lips and tongue on his collarbone.

“So beautiful, Dean,” Cas tells him, and for once, Dean believes him.

“Please,” Dean begs him, spreading his legs apart, and Cas swipes his fingers through the mess on Dean’s stomach, sliding it down over his hole and inside in so fluid a motion that Dean knows he’s using his grace again to cheat. It feels to good to complain.

He works three fingers inside, pushing Dean’s come deep before he nudges the tip of his cock at the rim, but before he can move any further Dean pushes at his shoulder, shifting their positions until Cas is sitting on his knees, perfect for Dean to kneel over his lap and sink down onto him.

Cas impales him in one slow motion, exhaling against Dean’s chest as he slides home, and Dean feels the satisfying stretch as his body pulls him in. 

He wraps his arms around him tightly, thinking of what Cas said, about feeling him safe and whole inside, and knows exactly what he meant. He wants to stay like this. To hold on to this feeling for as long as he can.

Like he’s thinking the very same thing, Cas doesn’t move a muscle; just sits there pressed wholly inside, holding Dean and using his grace to make his cock pulse insistently against Dean’s overstimulated prostate until it’s too much to bear.

“Cas,” he breathes into the damp curl of hair behind his ear. “Come for me, sweetheart. Want to feel you.”

He moves for the first time in what feels like hours, sliding up slightly to feel the smooth glide of Cas slipping out, and sinks back down with a keening moan, glad when Cas grasps his sides and does the work for him on the second slide, lifting Dean up and pulling him back down.

He’s never been with anyone strong enough to manhandle him, though the way Cas touches him is too reverent, too luxuriant to be thought of in those terms. Still, he loves how Cas lifts him like he weighs nothing at all and seeks out his own pleasure.

When Cas finally comes, pumping him full, Dean slumps bonelessly against him, speechless and exhausted until Cas carefully pulls out and lays him back on the bed. His fingers trace Dean’s lips briefly, as though in worship, and at once he feels clean and warm, all the evidence of their night gone save for the lingering glow of satisfaction in Dean’s core.

Dean’s not sure when he closed his eyes, but he feels the soft weight of the comforter being pulled over him, and the wobble of the mattress as Cas slides into bed to kiss his eyelids, his nose, his mouth.

“Sleep,” Cas tells him, holding him close, and for the first time in a month, Dean is happy to.

**Author's Note:**

> Sooo... that's a thing I wrote. I hope the tone wasn't too all-over-the-place. I worry that I jumped from teasing to tender to all-out-filth too often, but ymmv. You can find me on tumblr in two places: my regular blog is [thevioletcaptain](http://thevioletcaptain.tumblr.com/), and the one for NSFW stuff is [theblushingviolet](http://theblushingviolet.tumblr.com/). 
> 
> The source for "Steve's" video preview is [here](http://suitsockscum.tumblr.com/post/121641635625/suitsockscumtumblrcom)! It's a black-and-white still photograph though, so you'll have to use your imagination. 
> 
> I used [this](http://ios.cartoonify.de/) Chrome app and photoshop to make the text message & fake hookup app screencaps.
> 
> Thanks for reading :)


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